


Désolé

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, More tags later, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He usually kept it covered. Whether it be with long sleeves, a cuff of some sort, or make up Natasha skillfully showed him how to apply.</p><p>He didn’t cover it up because he was ashamed or because he was one of those people who didn’t like others knowing who his soulmate was- no. He covered it up out of respect. Respect for his fallen partner, and respect for himself because he knew looking at those swoopy lines of <em>James B. Barnes</em> on his wrist always made him crumble like his legs were kicked down. </p><p>When he crashed into the ice all those years ago he thought he was going to see Bucky again- he thought he was finally going to be with Bucky without people giving them ugly looks and throwing slurs their way. </p><p>He thought he was going to be happy again. </p><p>(Or: Two part AU where Steve and Bucky are soulmates, Bucky fell, Steve hurts, they meet again like men through time, they reunite, and Bucky wants his tattoo back.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Désolé

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trickster_Demon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickster_Demon/gifts).



> So this was supposed to be a 5k oneshot of pure fluff with post-tws!Bucky wanting Tony to make a new plate for his arm with Steve's name engraved onto it.. but then this happened..
> 
> (thank you to all my beta-ish people who helped me when I was stuck!!!)

**2013**

He usually kept it covered. Whether it be with long sleeves, a cuff of some sort, or make up Natasha (his new teammate) skillfully showed him how to apply.

He didn’t cover it up because he was ashamed or because he was one of those people who didn’t like others knowing who his soulmate was- no. He covered it up out of respect. Respect for his fallen partner, and respect for himself because he knew looking at those swoopy lines of _James B. Barnes_ on his wrist always made him crumble like his legs were kicked down. 

When he crashed into the ice all those years ago he thought he was going to see Bucky again- he thought he was finally going to be with Bucky without people giving them ugly looks and throwing slurs their way. 

He thought he was going to be happy again. 

After Bucky fell off the train it was like everything turned black, white, and red. He didn’t see happiness or an end to the pain. He just saw the people that made Bucky fall. He saw the war that tore them apart and felt the serum in his veins. The serum that made people see him as someone he’s not and made Bucky have to relearn who _his_ Steve was. 

It felt worse than when he lost his Mama. He knew she was already slipping through his fingers like sand and he prepared himself for that- for the departure she was going to take to be with Papa, away from him. He made peace with the thought that she wasn’t going to comb his hair back when he had a fever or give him that warm smile everytime he and Buck were together. He made peace and he was okay.

But Bucky falling was a different story in itself. It wasn’t something he saw coming. It wasn’t something he had time to make peace with. It wasn’t something that was supposed to happen. But it did and Steve saw it. 

He saw the fear in Bucky’s eyes as he held on tight and stretched his hand out. He heard the scream rip from Bucky’s throat as he fell. And he felt emptiness fill his heart because he should have caught him. Because Bucky shouldn’t be dead. 

Because it was all his fault. 

So he killed. He saw HYDRA agents and made sure that they didn’t have a pulse when he walked pass them. He didn’t stop to ask who they were, if they had a family, what name was scrawled across their wrist. He just powered through and made sure each death was in the honor of Bucky. He made sure the war would be over by his hand with the thought of Bucky Barnes burning in the back of his mind and dripping from his fingers. 

He killed and fought.

He sat himself down in the seat of a plane that he knew wasn’t going to land. He let himself drive the plane into thick glaciers of ice with Peggy talking to him over comms. All her words soothing with promises of seeing Bucky again and that he still owed her a dance. 

And he was okay with it.

He made peace with the thought of him dying because he knew he’d see Bucky again. He knew the hand stretching out to him would catch him and that he’d be safe in Heaven with his best guy, his Mama, and his Papa. He was ready to go. And when the plane crashed and his body was rushed with pressure and pain, he thought that everything was going to be okay because he’d get to see Bucky again. 

But it was just darkness. No light, no hand stretching out to him. Nothing.

And then there was light and voices. And a flutter of hope filled his body but was hurriedly covered by a blanket of cold and pain. His bones felt brittle and frozen, his head felt heavier than when he was burning up with a fever in Brooklyn December, his eyes felt like they were sewed shut, and he felt restrained. There was a beeping coming from machines to the left him and then hands were touching him. People addressing him by Mister Rogers or Captain in voices that he didn’t know.

In voices that didn’t belong to Bucky.

So he screamed.

He screamed out Bucky’s name like he did after Bucky fell. He screamed like the first time he woke up from a nightmare and there wasn’t a body in his cot to sooth his hair back. He screamed because he was afraid and he couldn’t see. He screamed because all he wanted was Bucky. 

But there was only doctors and people he didn't know. People frantically touching him and asking him questions while all he repeated was _BuckyBuckyBucky_ because he was scared and afraid and didn't know where we was and didn't know where Bucky was. 

But Bucky never came and still hasn’t.

So he went on with his life. He stayed in his small apartment, went on missions, sometimes did interviews and press- he kept himself busy. He tried his best not to dwell on the past that tore a hole in his heart.

Of course there were bad days. Afternoon’s he’d be walking down the street and pass someone who smelled like the cologne Bucky would spray on himself before they left to a dance. Nights when he felt so cold and alone and all he wanted was Bucky but he knew he’d never get him back. Early mornings when he’d wake up and think it was still 1920 and kept his eyes close. Waiting for Bucky to kiss him on the back of the ear like he used to and wrap his arms around his waist for their normal _good morning_. But it never came and then he remembered it was 2013 and he was pulled out of the ice. 

He remembered and so he got up. He pushed himself out of bed, showered, and let the memories and self deprecation circle down the drain because he was Steve Rogers, _Captain America_ , and now wasn’t the time to feel bad for himself. 

**2014**

“You know, if you ask Kristen out, from Statistics, she'll probably say yes.” Natasha said with a smirk, adjusting her uniform. 

Steve looked over to Natasha and gave her what he thought looked like a genuine smile, “That’s why I don’t ask.”

“Too shy or too scared?” Natasha teased, her red lips twitching up at the ends. 

“Too Busy!” He backed his way out of the plane and jumped, wind whipping against him and the black abyss of the ocean underneath him. 

He wasn’t too busy, in reality. He kept to a schedule and when there wasn’t any pressing matters or meetings to attend he stayed home and tried to catch up with the times. 

The reason he didn’t ask Kristen- or anyone for that matter- out was because he didn’t feel ready. He didn’t feel ready to try getting over Bucky. It felt like something he couldn’t do and maybe never would. It felt like trying to live without breathing. 

The of team didn’t know who's name was on his wrist. Natasha knew there was someone from the past in his wrist that he was mourning over because she was the one who hinted that lipstick and foundation worked nicely after seeing him slip a cuff onto his wrist. But she never asked- and he wasn’t about to tell. He wasn’t ready for pitying looks or a clap on the back telling him to get over it. So he never said anything. He just used makeup, cuffs, long sleeves, and gloves to shield himself from something that already hit him.

* * *

“Need a medic?” Steve walked over to the man he was running past whose now resting against a tree with a heaving chest. He hadn’t had that much fun in what felt like years. Breaking a sweat as he ran and throwing harmless quips at a stranger. He felt free and young again- but then again this can just be a good day in a week of bad.

He hopes not.

The man laughed and leaned his head back against the tree, his elbow propped up against his knee while his other hand lay limp against the gras, “I need a new set of lungs.", the man said with a breathless chuckle, "Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

Steve let out a small laugh and shrugged sheepishly, “I guess I got a late start.”

The man rose his eyebrows and snorted, “Oh, really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap.”

Steve smiled and opened his mouth to introduce himself when the man spoke again.

“Did you just take it? I assumed you just took it.” He said sarcastically, breath slightly recovered but not all there yet. 

“What unit are you with?” Steve asked not meaning to change the subject to abruptly but it's just that hadn’t bantered that way with anyone since Bucky. It felt odd- good- but odd. He couldn’t place it and didn’t want to think about it either.

“Fifty-eighth, Para-rescue.” The man said without taking a moment to think about it, “But now I'm working down at the VA.", he shrugged before leaning back against the tree, "Sam Wilson.”

Steve stretched his hand out to help Sam up, “Steve Rogers.” 

Sam gave him a nod in thank you for the help up, “I kind of put that together. Must have freaked you out coming home after the whole defrosting thing.”

Steve smiled tightly and nodded, “It took some getting used to.” he lied, “It's good to meet you, Sam.” He turned away to leave, maybe walk down the street before he got called into to work but mostly to avoid talking about being in the ice and getting out of it. It was traumatizing and not something he wanted to think about.

He didn't want to think about the nervous flutter in his belly when he was told his mission was overseas. How worried he got when there was turbulence and the plane shook like it was going to plummet into the ocean at any second. He didn't want to think about how many people put their life in his hands. How many people died because of him. How many people didn't know that he has fears too.

* * *

“What about the nurse that lives across the hall from you? She seems kind of nice.” Natasha asked, pulling her parachute off and tossing it behind her. 

Steve huffed out a laugh and shook his head. Natasha was not one for patience or taking ‘No’ for an answer, “Just secure the engine room.”

“And then I can find you a date?” He could hear her smirking over the comm and resisted the urge to roll his eyes because this wasn’t a social event this was an important mission. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

Steve let out another huff of air that wasn’t made from the fact that he was currently running through a ship, “Because I said so. Now, secure the engine room.”

She snorted and he swore he could hear her roll her eyes, “Whatever, party pooper.”

* * *

“Look who it is. The running man.” 

Steve shrugged with one shoulder and let out a breath of air, “Caught the last few minutes. It's pretty intense.” 

“Yeah, brother, we all got the same problems. Guilt, regret.” Sam said.

The words hung heavy in the air in front of Steve like a piano hanging from a rope. Strings busting and groaning with the weight. He knew those pains all too well. He sees those pains each time he looks down at his wrist- covered or not. Guilt because why couldn't he save him? Regret because Bucky could have gone home, safe, but stayed because of home.

"You lose someone?” Steve asked, cutting his own thoughts off.

“My wingman, Riley.” Sam rubbed his wrist unconsciously before dropping it to his side like it burned him, “Fly in the night mission. A standard PJ rescue op, nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before.. till RPG knock Riley's dumb ass out of the sky.” Sam shook his head and shrugged, “Nothing I could do. It's like I was up there just to watch.”

He swallowed thickly and silently cleared his throat, “I'm sorry.” _I know what you've gone through. I know how that feels. I know how cruel God can be._

“After that,” Sam continued, “I had really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know?” 

Steve knew. He felt that before. The helplessness of only being able to see your best friend- lover- fall and not have the power to do anything. But he didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t want that pity from Sam- even though he had a feeling in his gut that told him Sam already knew. So Steve ignored the words that wanted to spew so desperately from his lips and tried to move away from the subject, “But you're happy now, back in the world?”

Sam laughed and nodded, “Hey, the number of people giving me orders is down to about zero. So, hell, yeah.” He trailed off and licked his lips, giving Steve an all-knowing look, “You thinking about getting out?”

“No-" Steve started and paused, "I don't know.” Steve sighed remembering the helicarriers SHIELD had hiding in their basement, “To be honest, I don't know what I would do with myself if I did.” He went through so much to get into SHIELD- into the Military- that getting out seemed like a waste. It seemed like the cowards way out. It seemed like he was running away and that's something he just didn't do even if it was for the better. 

“Ultimate fighting?” Sam suggested with a playful smile, “It's just a great idea off the top of my head. But seriously, you could do whatever you want to do. What makes you happy?” 

_Bucky_

Steve shrugged and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, “I don’t know.”

* * *

“Is he gonna’ make it?”

Steve held his breath as he watched the doctors work. Frantic hands moving over Nick’s still body doing what they can with little to work with, “I don’t know.”

“Tell me about the shooter.” Natasha demanded.

“He’s fast and strong. He had a metal arm.” Steve wished he could say more but that's all he knew. The man that killed Nick was too fast, even for him. 

“Ballistics?”

Steve was about to answer that he didn’t have that information yet when he noticed Maria standing beside him. 

“Three slugs.” She said with a tired voice, “No rifling and completely untraceable.”

“Soviet made?” Natasha asked, something knowing behind her worried voice. 

“Yeah.”

* * *

“Time of death, 1:03 AM.”

Steve looked down at the flash drive that was burning in his hand the whole time.

* * *

“I know who killed Fury." Natasha said, her voice calm even with Steve's arm holding her against the wall, "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones who do call him The Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.” Natasha finished nonchalantly, like she was telling Steve what the weather was and not who killed Nick Fury.

“So he’s a ghost story.” Steve wasn’t convinced. He’s seen aliens come from other galaxies, a man with a red face, and what science could do to him. But something like that- a man who could kill and not be _known_ \- seemed even more like a myth than Thor did. 

Natasha shrugged with small nod of her head, “Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot at my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but The Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me.” She pulled her shirt up to show a badly healed shot wound. The flesh was pink and puffed over with a length of two inches or more. It looked like she sewed up her own wounds and never got the chance to have it done professionally, “A Soviet slug, no rifling.” She repeated, “Bye-bye bikinis.”

“Yeah,” Steve snorted at how lightly she took the gruesome memory, “I bet you look terrible in them now.” 

She smirked and made a nonchalant gesture with her head and shoulders, “Going after him is a dead end. I know, I've tried.” Steve saw visions of Natasha running through rough terrain trying to find the person who outsmarted her, who made bikinis a thing of the past. 

She rose the flashdrive up between her fingers and let out what sounded like a small sigh, “Like you said, he’s a ghost story.” 

Steve looked at the flashdrive and in one swift movement grabbed it, “Well, lets find out what the ghost wants.”

* * *

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?”

Steve glanced at Natasha and suppressed a sigh. They should be talking about what SHEILD’s been hiding from them or why half of the STRIKE team is out to kill them- not if he’s kissed anyone since back then. Since Bucky. So Steve deflected, “That bad, huh?” he let out a laugh he knew Natasha could tell was fake and kept his eyes on the road in front of him, not on her soul-searching stare. 

“I didn’t say that.” She said, kicking her feet back up on the dash like a defiant cat. 

“Well, it kinda’ sounds like that’s what you’re saying.” He remembered Bucky loving his kisses. Craving them after long days working on the docks or at whatever factory was hiring at the time. He remembered the sweet sounds Bucky made when Steve kissed him. A humm at the peck on his lips, a groan when Steve kissed at the soft spot behind his ear, a moan when he ventured down Bucky’s neck, and breathy utters of his name when he got down to the hollow of Bucky’s neck. He remembered all those things and felt the words on his wrist burn because how could he kiss someone that wasn’t Bucky?

He knew that nowadays kissing someone, _loving_ someone that wasn’t your soulmate was accepted and even promoted. But he was used to back then, when getting with someone that wasn’t your soulmate got frowns and looks of disdain. And he was okay with that. With the traditional sense of only one person being right and God made for you- not that he looked down on the nonbelievers and people who just didn’t care. But it was him and what he believed. So kissing Natasha made him want to pull the truck over and send off a little prayer to Bucky because he didn’t mean for that to happen. 

“I was just wondering how much practice you’ve had.” Natasha said and Steve could hear her rolling her eyes. 

“I don’t need practice.” _Bucky was all I ever needed._

Natasha snorted, “Everyone needs practice.”

“It was not my first kiss since 1945.” He lied, “I’m 95, not dead.”

A few stretches of street passed before Natasha spoke up again.

“Steve,” She started with a soft voice, “I know how much James meant to you and it’s okay if you-”

“Don’t,” He said, swallowing through the tightness in his throat when he had flashes of memories. Bucky’s knee-weakening smile, Bucky sleeping next to him without a shirt on during hot summer days, Bucky trying to twirl him around their living room with the sound of Louis Armstrong playing in the background, “just don’t.”

The silence was tense between them for a few more miles. He could feel the buzz of Natasha wanting to say something but being polite enough not to. She knew about Bucky, and was probably well informed on what exactly happened. He knew she probably read about them in the books that were published. How they were best friends and soulmates from a young age, inseparable even in war, and were to be in heaven together if not for the serum running through Steve’s veins. 

“So nobody special then?”

Steve looked at her out of the corner of his eye before flicking them back to the road, “Believe it or not, it’s kinda’ hard to find someone with the shared life experience.” he could hear the bitterness staining his voice.

“Well, that’s alright,” She said with a small shrug, “you just make something up.”

“What like you?” He was never too sure about Natasha. He knew part of her background but he never knew which background she was playing. He didn’t know if she was playing spy or actually being herself. And that put him off. He was used to upfront people. People that were in the army not because they wanted to be but because the draft forced them. Run of the mill army men that didn’t have any alternative mission but to point, shoot, kill, check kill. 

“I don’t know." She shrugged, "Truth is a matter of circumstances, it’s not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

Steve could feel the truthfulness of what she just said leaking through her words, “It’s a tough way to live.” Lying all the time, not being the same person you were yesterday. 

“It’s a good way not to die, though.”

They drove in silence for a moment before Steve spoke up, something that’s been on his chest since he first met Natasha, “You know, it’s hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is.” He wanted to trust Natasha, to let his life lay in her hands just for a moment so he himself could get some rest. But he didn’t know if he could. If it was possible for him to trust someone that he could lose just as easily. 

“Yeah. Who do you want me to be?”

“How about a friend?”

Natasha laughed and turned to him, “There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers.”

It’s a start.

* * *

_Your death amounts to the same as your life; a zero sum._

Steve gripped the lip of the sink and held his breath, trying to calm himself down. He didn’t want to get riled up over something a computer told him, something he knew he shouldn’t believe. Like when Stark told him that everything special about him came out of a bottle. They were just words; fighting words at that. 

Fighting words that told him that all he worked for went down the drain like dirty water. Dirty, blood stained water. 

Steve looked down at his wrists and closed his eyes. The makeup he padded onto his wrist earlier was faded leaving the outline of Bucky’s name. He leaned down and pressed his forehead into the cool porcelain of the sink and sighed, “What do I do, Buck?” he whispered, knowing Natasha was in the room over, “What should I do?”

* * *

“You okay?” Steve asked, slowly lowering himself on the bed in front of Natasha. He needed to take care of his team, to make sure she was alright before he dealt with himself. 

Natasha looked up at him and nodded, still toweling her hair, “Yeah.”

“What’s going on?” He could tell by her short reply that something was wrong. There wasn’t a snappy comment about the dirt still on him or how a senior citizen could carry a full grown woman out of rubble. 

“When I first joined SHIELD, I thought it was going straight.” She said softly, “But I guess I just traded in the KGB for HYDRA. I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but..” she trailed off, looking somewhere so far past the bed that Steve knew she wasn’t in the present anymore but remembering things from before SHIELD took her in, “I guess I can't tell the difference anymore.”

Steve knew she wasn’t about to have a heart to heart with him and was probably straining herself to even talk about this with him, so he decided to let the topic go, “There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business.”

Natasha gave him a small smile before it faded into something a little more serious, “I owe you.”

Steve shook his head, “It’s okay.” He didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt.

“If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?” 

Steve nodded, “I would now.” Before all this he didn’t know if he’d ever trust her, if he could ever see her for anything other than a spy, but going through this with her made him see Natasha differently. “And I’m always honest.”

* * *

“Is this Riley?” Steve looked down at the picture in his hands. Two well built men standing in rocky terrain. Sam looked a little bit younger, eyes brighter, and happier. The man beside him just the same. Both of their wrists touching; Riley’s with Sam’s scrawl that Steve only just came to know.

Sam nodded and swallowed, “Yeah.”

Natasha looked up from the picture and broke the heavy silence, “I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs. What did you use, a stealth chute?” 

“No,” Sam said handing Steve a file, “these.”

“I thought you said you were a pilot.” Steve felt his eyebrows raise to his hairline. If he thought the helicarriers were impressive then he was sorely mistaken. The twenty first century has _wings_.

“I never said pilot.” Sam preened like a bird and Steve wanted to laugh at the sight.

Steve looked back down at the file and shook his head, “I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.” A reason that Steve knew all too well. A reason Steve wanted to get out with but couldn’t push himself to because there was more people to think about than just himself and Bucky. 

“Dude,” Sam said rolling his eyes like Steve should be able to read his mind, “Captain America needs my help, there’s no better reason to get back in.”

* * *

Steve stood his ground as The Winter Soldier rolled away. He noticed the man’s mask fall to the ground and felt his muscles tense up at the thought of seeing who the _ghost_ really was. 

Who the man behind the mask and killing was- behind the killing of Fury. 

He let the man get up from the ground before taking a step forward to punch when the man turned around, brown hair falling in his face- longer than Steve ever remembered seeing it, stubble around his face like that time he hadn’t been shaved in days because Steve came down with the flu, and dark circles under his eyes like when he spent day in and out working on the docks. Blue eyes that he knew so well.

“Bucky?” He could hear the hopefulness in his voice, he could feel the nerves swirling through his stomach, and he could see the man he thought he lost so long ago. The man he loved and still does, the man whose name is scrawled across his wrist-

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve felt his knees go weak. Not in the way they used to- from Bucky’s grins that told Steve everything he already knew- but because there was no Brooklyn accent, no combed back hair, no ‘Hey, Stevie’, no arm that held Steve’s name on it’s wrist, and most of all: no memories. 

Steve snapped out of his own thoughts when he saw Bucky pointing a gun to him. He almost felt like not raising his shield up. Letting Bucky take the shot and put him out of his own pain. His own selfish pain that only grew more because his soulmate didn’t remember him. Steve loosened his grip on his shield so he could throw it behind him and tell Bucky to take the shot when something pushed him out of the way. It felt like a blur- like when he tried mixing all his paints as a kid and it gave him a murky green. He let his muscle memory take over- shield raising when Bucky threw what he guessed was bomb at him, moving when agents point a gun to his head, getting on his knees when told so. 

Because _who the hell was Bucky?_

* * *

“It was him. He looked right at me and he didn’t even know me.” Steve didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think about Bucky being alive after all these years, that Bucky was living and breathing somewhere- that Bucky had to deal with the aftermath of falling off that train. 

“How’s that even possible?” Sam said, “It was like seventy years ago.”

“Zola.” Steve shook his head and looked down at his lap, “Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ‘43- Zola experimented on ‘em.” Steve never knew what Zola did the Bucky. He’d ask and ask but Bucky would tell him not to worry about it, that it wasn’t important, “Whatever he did, it helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him.” The fall that was Steve’s falt because Bucky went on that mission with him, because Bucky was the one who picked up his shield and saved him. If Steve had reached farther or faster he could have saved Bucky. 

If Steve wasn’t so reckless Bucky wouldn’t be dead. Bucky wouldn't be whatever he is now. 

“None of that’s your fault, Steve.” Natasha said, her voice sounding weak.

He didn't hear what Natasha said. It felt like there was an ocean in head head muting, and washing out everything. Filling his mind with images of Bucky, memories, anything that his brain could grab on to and hold close. 

“Even when I had nothing I had Bucky.”

* * *

Steve sighed when he heard Sam walk onto the bridge and prepared himself for a talk down.

“He’s going to be there, you know?” Sam said, stopping next to him and looking out onto the horizon. 

Steve nodded, “I know.”

“Look,” Sam started, crossing his arms, “whoever he used to be-” Sam stopped and sighed, “the guy he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save. I think he’s the kind you stop.”

Steve looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye and sighed, “I don’t think I can do that.”, Sam was telling it like he saw it but he didn’t know Bucky like Steve did and Steve wasn’t about to kill his best friend- _soulmate_. 

“Well, he might not give you a choice.” Sam paused like he was thinking his words through before speaking again, “He doesn’t know you.”

Those words felt like a punch in Steve’s gut. He wanted to lash out, yell at Sam and tell him that he knows. He knows Bucky is in some lost state and isn’t his best guy from decades ago but instead he bit in the inside of his cheek, took second, and said: “He will. Gear up, it’s time.”

* * *

Steve looked across the ramp at Bucky- _The Winter Soldier_ in the eyes, “People are going to die, Buck.” he swallowed back a lump forming in his throat, “I can’t let that happen.” Steve stared at The Winter Soldier and ignored the crack in his voice when he said, “Please don’t make me do this.” He didn’t want the death of his best friend to be on his hands, he didn’t want to fight the man he loved- _loves-_ he didn’t want any of this.

The Winter Soldier didn’t respond. He just stared; matted hair framing his face, blue eyes cold like ice, and lips pressed into a frown that seemed like his default face.

Steve let a few seconds pass (he watched The Winter Soldier waiting for a movement of some sort but the man didn’t even flex a muscle) before deciding to push Steve Rogers from the 40’s to the back of his mind and bring Captain America to the front. The man that America thought was fit to protect and represent them, the man they put faith in. He didn’t think about how that was his best friend a few feet from him or what he would have to do if his life was threatened by the man. He didn't think about how he'd rather die than hurt Bucky. He didn’t think about the new blood that was about to splatter on his hands, he just acted. 

He tightened gripped on his shield, looked at The Winter Soldier, and _threw_.

* * *

“Charlie locked.” Steve breathed out, his voice tired and body burning with bullets. 

“Okay, Cap.” Maria said, “Get out of there, I can take it from here.” 

Steve could hear a tinge of happiness in Maria’s voice and let out a pant of air, “Fire now.” It was almost ironic how similar this death would be to the one 70 years ago; a machine above it’s time crashing into a body of water, people not having to die by the hands of HYDRA, his friend on the comm with him as he took his last breath.

He accepted the thought of dying long ago. Back when he was a slip of a thing, when his wrists were too small, and knees too knobby. Years ago when his ribs used to feel like they were burning after each cough, when every sharp breath could be his last, and every touch of winter was like a kiss of death. But even though he had accepted the thought of dying he was never one to give up and let sickness take him. He wasn’t one to roll over and let asthma or the common cold make him weak. He didn’t let it stop him from waking up each morning to either the sun on his face or Bucky’s lips pressed to his skin. Sickness didn’t stop him from trying to pull money in so Buck didn’t have to work at the docks every afternoon, or standing up against something that wasn’t right. Sickness didn’t stop him. It didn’t kill him and he never let it.

But that was then. Before he became Captain America, before he thought he destroyed HYDRA, before he lost his soulmate only to find him again without memories. 

“But, Steve-” Maria started, her voice sounding worried and panicked. 

“Do it!” Steve yelled into the comm before pushing himself up and letting his body weight rest against one of the rails, “Do it now.” Steve heard Maria muttering to herself and braced himself for the worst. He felt the helicarrier being shot; vibrations from rubble falling and bullets impacting. 

It was worse than crashing into ice.

Steve gripped on to the rail, knuckles white and the metal cold under his palms. He could still feel the bullets in him- it wasn’t an excruciating pain like it should have been but more of something throbbing the back of his mind that told him whatever was in him shouldn’t be. He knows he should be hurting more- that he should be laying on the ramp and not standing up- but the serum does wonders, apparently. 

He looked down below him where rubble was crashing through the helicarrier’s glass and into the Potomac and noticed Bucky. 

Bucky was caught under a fallen beam. His face twisted in agony and panic where he was trying to get the beam off but couldn’t. Steve picked up the little mewls and groans Bucky made with each push on the beam and felt something pang in his heart because not once had he ever seen Bucky in enough pain where he cried out. 

Steve vaulted over the rail and slid down the side of the helicarrier until the hit the side of the beam Bucky was struggling under. He ignored the slight growl and stare he was getting for pulling the beam up. Steve gritted his teeth and lifted the beam as high as he could; his body was sore with bullet wounds. Once Bucky slipped out from under the fallen beam Steve let it fall and exhaled before standing up and looking at Bucky. 

“You know me.” Steve said, hope blooming in his chest because the man before him was Bucky and Bucky could never forget him. No matter how much HYDRA brainwashing. 

A growl ripped out of Bucky, “No, I don’t!”

Steve took a step forward and reached out before stopping, “Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life.” Steve wanted to scream for him to remember, for something to spark in those blue eyes he drew constantly on hot summers, but he knew that wouldn’t help. “Buck-” Steve felt something cold and hard impact his cheekbone but kept his ground, he wouldn’t fight Bucky. Not now, not ever from this point. He knew that if he didn’t have serum running through his veins the punch would have broken a bone or three, but this was _Bucky_ “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve moved to pull his glove off and show Bucky the name on his wrist when he felt another blow to his face.

“Shut up!” Bucky yelled, his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths and his fists clenched at his sides. 

Steve decided against showing Bucky his wrist for taking his helmet off; maybe Bucky seeing his face will spark a memory- something. He dropped his helmet to the side and let go of his shield, letting it fall down into the Potomac like he’d soon be, “I’m not gonna’ fight you.” Steve said looking Bucky in the eyes, “You’re my friend.” _My soulmate._

Steve let himself fall when Bucky pushed him down; a breath of air pushing out of his lips when he hit the ground. Steve wanted to groan in pain when Bucky straddled his hips (the position so familiar that Steve wanted to grip onto Bucky’s hips like he used to) and pushed him down with his metal hand, “You’re my mission.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest and tell Bucky that he wasn’t just another confirm and kill because The Winter Soldier would have already finished the mission already, how much history they had together, how much he’s missed him, when he felt more blows come to his face. Back and forth, his face went. From one set of knuckles to another. He felt pain bloom on his face, like flowers opening in the early hours of the morning. Blackness edged his vision and all he wanted to do was reach out and touch Bucky. Touch the dimple on his chin so he knows he’s real and not another vision. But he can’t move his arms, he can’t reach out and touch so he speaks instead, “Then finish it,” Steve slurs, “‘cause i’m with you till the end of the line.”

* * *

_”We looked for you after,” Bucky said quietly as they walked up Steve’s rickety stairs, “my folks wanted to give you a ride from the cemetery.” The_ I missed you _was clear to Steve’s ears._

_“I know,” Steve sighed, his small body emotionally tired from burying his mother and thinking about all the ways he was going to miss her, “I’m sorry- I just.. I just kind of wanted to be alone.” It’s not that he didn’t want Bucky’s company or Bucky holding his hand as they lowered her into the ground, it’s that he didn’t want Bucky’s pity. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, not while his mother was alive and definitely not after._

_They were both quiet for a moment, the sound of cars buzzing down the street and creaks of wood beneath their feet were the only sounds heard before Bucky broke the silence, “How was it?”_ how are you? __

_“It was okay.” Steve said, nodding to himself and trying not to give into the gravitational pull that Bucky radiated, trying not to slip into Bucky’s arms and let his walls break down, “She’s next to dad.” They were both buried in the military cemetery, right next to each other, almost holding hands if not for the dirt and wood preventing them._

_Bucky nodded and rocked back on his heels, hesitating with a lick of his lips, “I was gonna’ ask..”_

_“I know what you’re gonna’ say,” Steve sighed shaking his head, “Buck- I just-” he trailed off because all he wanted was his mom back. Strong Sarah Rogers back at home or taking care of sick soldiers- hell, taking care of him. He wanted to see her red lipped smile, to flush out of embarrassment when she asked about Bucky or asked when he was going to pop the question. He just wanted to hear her Brooklyn accent once more- that honey sound she made when they both sat quietly during Sunday mass. That’s all he wanted but he couldn’t get that back, not now and not ever._

_“We can put the couch cushions on the floor like we used to when we first started out, lay there until our backs hurt then go to the bed.” Bucky said, placing a reassuring palm on Steve’s back, “It’ll be nice.”_

_Steve sighed and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets before frowning and pulling them out to dig through his pant pockets. He remembered putting them in his pocket this morning- or was that yesterday? Steve stuck his hands in his jacket pockets once more, feeling nothing but lint and a tissue-_

_“Steve,” Bucky said and Steve turned around to see Bucky holding a key out to him, “come on, let me just-”_

_“I can get by on my own.”_ but not without you _Steve wanted to scream. Because he couldn’t. Not right now. At the same time, though, he wanted to show the world that he was strong- but then again.. he never had to prove anything to Bucky. Not once, even when they were first starting out._

_“The thing is, you don’t have to.” Bucky moved forward and Steve thought he was going to kiss him but instead he got a warm hand on his shoulder and Bucky’s thumb rubbing small circles into his collarbone; Steve leaned into it. “‘Cause i’m with you till the end of the line, pal.”_

* * *

The familiar scent of sterile bedsheets filled his nose, his heart monitor beeping slowly to his left, and the sound of a man crooning beside him. Slowly, Steve opened his eyes. He could feel the bruises and cuts stretching on his face, the soreness that the bullets left him, and the stiffness from however long he’d been laying on this hospital bed. 

It’d been years since he’d been admitted to a hospital but the scene is all too familiar. Hard bed beneath his body, IVs in his arms, the loud sound of silence loud in his ears. It was like a second home. Except now, he knew he was going to live and survive through whatever was wrong with him. Before, though, there would be a priest waiting by the door, Bucky holding his hands tight, and his mom pushing back his hair because the doctors had long since given up. 

A tight smile formed on Steve’s face when he noticed what song was playing and who was sitting next to him. Sam was sitting on his right side, one leg propped up across the other, flicking through a magazine and looking oddly comfortable sitting on a plastic hospital chair. 

“On your left.” Steve said, his voice cracking from disuse. 

Sam’s head snapped up before he started chuckling. He set his magazine to the side and relaxed back into the chair, “I’m pretty sure if we went running right now I’d beat your ass.” 

Steve snorted and pointed to the styrofoam cup resting on the table in front of Sam. He made a grateful sound when Sam passed him the cup and brought it to his lips. The water was refreshing when it touched his dry mouth; some dribbled out the side of his lips. 

“So, Cap,” Sam started, refilling his cup when he passed it back, “how’re you feeling?”

Steve downed one more cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “Okay,” Steve said nodding, “I’ve had worse.” physically he felt fine, emotionally he was drained, and mentally- well, he wasn’t too sure. 

A moment passed before Sam spoke again, “And what happened with Bucky?” Sam said Bucky’s name so hesitantly Steve felt like the name was a bad omen- like a name parents told their children to scare them at night.

Steve sighed and looked down at his hospital gown clad lap, tracing the pattern with his eyes before answering, “Bucky..” was like a wild card right now, one he wasn’t sure about but had hope in. He hoped Bucky would come back to him without a mission on his mind but instead what they once had, “Bucky is something that I don’t want to talk about.”

Sam pursed his lips, obviously displeased with Steve’s answer, “Steve, look, I saw your wrist. I know who James is and I know that the man on the helicarrier wasn’t him.”

“You know what HYDRA’s used his body for but not who he was, or is.” Steve said, his voice tight and sharp. He turned away from Sam and closed his eyes when pain bloomed between his temples. He didn’t mean to snap at Sam but really and truly Sam nor anyone knew Bucky like he did.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since Steve got out of the hospital, one since he last saw Bucky, and four since everything went down in DC. 

Congress and other suits have been clawing at Natasha since she first got on the stand; demanding answers from her about how something like that could have happened to SHIELD, how she could be so careless and spew SHIELD’s secrets like bathroom gossip, and who exactly The Winter Soldier was. Steve understood that she knew exactly what she was doing but at the same time he wanted to pull her down from the stand because none of this should be put on her. None of the blame, none of the finger pointing, none of the slander. Nothing. 

But a finger needed to be pointed at someone right? 

Steve watched as Fury made his way through the cemetery, hood covering his face and trees shadowing him. If this case- _mission_ \- had been any different Steve would have taken up the offer to join Fury. Follow someone again instead of leading, wipe through HYDRA bases like they were back in the 40s. But he couldn’t because there was something else he needed to do- someone he needed to find. 

“That thing you asked for,” Natasha said, stopping by Steve’s side. He noticed she was still dressed like she should be fighting suits, not taking a stroll through a cemetery, “I called in a few favors from Kiev.” 

“Thank you.” Steve said, taking the file from her. The thick paper was soft between his fingers and all Steve wanted to do was unwind the red string and see what they did to his best friend.

Natasha smiled and shrugged, “I pay my debts.” she took one step forward, the heels of her boots sinking into the soft dirt, and kissed Steve’s cheek before pulling back, “Do me a favor, don’t pull that thread.”

“Nat-” Steve started, a protest heavy on his tongue.

“Just think about it. You might not be ready to see what they did to your best friend.” She pointed looked down at his wrist before stepping back, “Good luck.”

Steve watched her walk away, opposite of the direction Fury went, before he looked down at the file in his hands. He had no choice but to open it. He owed this to Bucky and partly to himself. Steve let out a breath of air and undid the red string, fingers slightly shaking as the string got longer and the file was closer to being opened, he let the folder fall open and saw Bucky-

Ice. 

Frozen. 

Cryotube. 

Steve felt chills run down his spine. He knew how it felt to freeze into unconsciousness and wake up again, but being frozen over and over again and waking up each time. He shook his head and flipped the file close. 

“You’re going after him?” Sam asked, leaning in to look at the file.

Steve clenched the worn folder and sighed, looking at Sam, “You don’t have to come with me.” He didn’t want anyone following into something they didn’t want to go into, he didn’t want any more blood on his hands. 

“I know,” Sam said quietly, a breeze rustled the trees, “when do we start?”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://winterxoldier.tumblr.com/)


End file.
